Inklets - Light...3

Serious 1  2  3  4  Light or Humorous 1  2  3  4 
Collections of vignette tales, too long for drabbles and too short for shorts.

A Budding Rembrandt - Agape4Rivendell
Barney on Caradhras - Primula
Dust Bunnies vs. Plot Bunnies - Primula
The Green Parrot - Agape4Rivendell
The High Warden's New Clothes - Agape4Rivendell
The Interview - Dinledhwen
Over the Threshold (in 4 parts) - Primula
Saruman's Laundry (in 4 parts) - Primula
Tharbad - Agape4Rivendell
The Witch King's Hearing Protector - Mithrandir CQ

The  Interview

When the young female reporter for the Minas Tirith Gazette spied Prince Legolas waiting patiently outside the Royal residence’s front door early one evening she saw her opportunity for an interview with the handsome elf.

“Prince Legolas would you mind answering a question?” she asked a bit breathlessly and not all of it was due to her running across the busy street to reach him.

“No I don’t mind,” he replied with a smile that sent the young reporter’s heart a flutter and when she realized she was starting to stare at him while he waited for her to ask her question she cleared her throat in a nervous effort to cover what she had been doing before quickly taking her pen and pad of parchment out of her purse.

“Many have wondered why you’re still a bachelor. Is there a reason for this?” she asked while eagerly poising her pen above the parchment so she could get down every word he said. Hopefully this would lead to be a bigger story about him that would fill the entire society gossip page.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Queen Arwen’s shrill voice was suddenly heard coming from an open window above them.

“Out with Legolas?” came King Elessar’s voice although he didn’t sound too confident.

“You’re not going anywhere! You haven’t finished doing the supper dishes and I want you to wear my new dress so I could finish pinning up the hem tonight!” Queen Arwen said still in her shrill mode.

When nothing more was heard from above after King Elessar had whimpered that he never had any fun anymore, Prince Legolas looked at the young reporter. “Now you know why I’m still a bachelor,” he said with a wise smile and wink before walking off down the street.
- Dinledhwen


“And that is why Hobbits are so fond of mushrooms!”

Boromir sat with his mouth open. “Never have I heard such a pack of lies. Oliphants do not like mushrooms!”

“How do you know?” Merry retorted.

“Now, now,” Aragorn said, raising his hand to still the approaching argument. “It is my turn to tell a tale.”

Pip sat forward, all ears.

“‘Twas quite some time ago – I was on patrol on the outskirts of the southern Shire. There were reports of Dunlending activity. A small group of Rangers descended upon the area. I happened to get separated from my men.” Aragorn ignored Boromir’s snort. “I was following the river trying to find my way back, near the fords at Tharbad. The river becomes quite treacherous there.”

“Is this a real story?” Merry asked testily.

“Come on, Merry,” Pip interjected, “We didn’t make any rules for this. He can tell a real story if he wants to.”

Boromir interjected. “Does that you mean your Oliphant and mushroom story is made up?”

Aragorn harrumphed. “As I was saying, the river can be treacherous. As I went to cross, the current took my horse’s legs out from under her and I went crashing down. I have never been so wet nor cold in my life!”

Pip whispered loudly, “He doesn’t know how to tell a good story.”

Sam nodded in agreement.

“Only a fool tries to cross that river. I have been near Tharbad. I myself crossed the river there on foot, leading my horse after me. She bolted when…”

“Go on, Boromir.” Pip exclaimed.

“I think I have had enough of the telling of this tale.” Boromir shifted uncomfortably.

“What happened there, Boromir?” Aragorn asked quietly.

“I would not speak words of what I saw there, not in this place of peace.”

Galadriel stepped forward. “I have heard of your adventure at Tharbad, man of Gondor. The tale was written by one of our scribes. You had reported to Lord Elrond, when you arrived in Imladris and the tale was brought here. You are wise to speak no further of it.

The Hobbits were disappointed.

“If you would read of it, you may go to the library. My Elves will show you were it has been kept. Linaewen was the author, if I remember correctly. It is time now for rest.”

Pip shrugged. “No one knows how to tell a good story!”
- Agape4Rivendell

The Green Parrot

"Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go,
To heal my heart and drown my woe…”

Merry looked long and hard at Pippin. “Why are you singing that? It doesn’t belong here; it belongs in the Shire.”

“It belongs wherever a Hobbit is, isn’t that right Sam?”

“‘Course it is, Pippin. I don’t fancy it here though, so I see what Merry’s gettin’ on about.”

“What about you, Frodo? Do you think it’s wrong to sing it in Minas Tirith?”

“No. It feels right. It feels good. Pippin, because of you, I am content. And I have not felt content since we left the Shire.”

“Not even in Rivendell, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked in wonder.

“Not even in Rivendell, my dear Sam.”

“It’s the beer, Sam. It’s even better than the beer at the Golden Perch at Stock.” Pippin quickly scrambled to the top of the table and lifted his glass. “I declare this the finest beer east of the Shire!” He quaffed the whole pint, swiped his hand over his mouth to get the last drops, and licked his hand.

The entire bar broke into laughter. Costa’s son, Jimmy, brought over another four pints, placing them on the table. “A gift from my father and me.” He bowed low and left them.

Frodo sat, dumbfounded. Never had he been offered free beer – not even in the Shire.

Merry joined Pippin, holding onto his pint while pounding his feet in the song’s familiar beat.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! To the bottle I go,
To heal my heart and drown my woe…”

The other Hobbits quickly joined in, followed by Aragorn and Gandalf.

”Rain may fall and wind may blow,
And many miles be still to go
But under a tall tree I will lie,
And let the clouds go sailing by."

This triple drabble was written in memory of many wonderful nights in the Green Dragon in Wellington, NZ. The cast had their farewell dinner at this glorious establishment and it is mentioned in the extended DVD’s. The song, of course, is Tolkien's from FOTR.

A Warm and Grateful “Thank You” from Agape, Haldirriel, Indis, Elentari, TolmanJr. and Tari to our Hosts: Angelo, Costa, Dimitri and Jimmy Sakoufakis at The Green Parrot, Wellington, NZ. Three times Agape has been there, and three times they have treated her as friend! Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, a star shines on the hour of our meeting!  - Agape4Rivendell


The High Warden's New Clothes

“If you say ONE WORD… ”

Faramir knew when to be quiet, but laughter bubbled up.

Boromir lunged for him; Faramir ducked.

“You will ruin the outfit and Father will be angry,” his little brother shouted.

At that, Boromir stilled. Turning his back, he walked down the steps to his own quarters, those of the newly commissioned High-Warden, and slammed the door after him.

A quiet tap, tap, tap on the door announced that Faramir had followed him and was trying to gain entry to apologize. ‘At least,’ Boromir thought angrily, ‘he best be here to apologize!’

“Boromir! Please open the door. I meant no disrespect.”

The tapping grew distinctly louder. ‘Best open before Father hears,’ Boromir thought morosely. Faramir’s eyes still glinted with glee and Boromir quickly shut the door in his brother’s face.

“I am sorry, Boromir, truly I am, but the wingéd crown - it is too much!”
- Agape4Rivendell

Over the Threshold
This was a brief writing challenge, to complete the first paragraph from the House of Tom Bombadil:

The four hobbits stepped over the wide stone threshold and stood still, blinking. They were in a long low room filled with the light of lamps swinging from the beams of the roof'; and on the table of dark polished wood stood many candles, tall and yellow, burning brightly (FotR) -

A) "Eeeeek!" screamed the farmer's wife, who cut off Pip's scarf with a carving knife. Did you ever see such a sight in your life as four disoriented hobbits?

B) "Surprise!" cried eleventy-six hobbit relatives as they all leaped out from underneath and behind the assorted furniture.  "We followed you!"

C) "Hey," commented Merry.  "That's the table that went missing from my grand-uncle's cottage, and that's my aunt's missing set of candlesticks! So that's whan kept creeping out of the Old Forest at night... we thought the boot-prints were a bit odd for wildlife.

D) Next to the candles they found a small, neatly lettered sign: '3 Candles for 1 silver penny, or buy 12 get one free!'
- Primula

A Budding Rembrandt

“What have you there?”

“Naught, Boromir,” Faramir’s grin turned slightly lopsided, “but an old clamshell.”

“May I see it?”

Embarrassed, he held his hand out. The clamshell was painted in soft watercolors.

Tears sprang to Boromir’s eyes. “From Dol Amroth! Mother showed us how after we’d collected them! Have you more?”

“Nay. Just this and another.” Faramir turned to a small chest that sat, opened, on his desk. This shell had two large eyes painted on it and a wide, slightly crooked smile.

Boromir took his brother in a great hug, fists clenched, and laid his head on Faramir’s shoulder.


It's clambake season here in Ohio. Had one today and looked at the empty clamshells and remembered how I used to have the kids paint their cleaned shells. Many long and happy hours followed. Happy Clambake Season to all. - Agape4Rivendell


Saruman's Laundry - a set of double drabbles


Gandalf stood beneath the mighty tower of Orthanc, looking up.
Saruman had summoned him and he wondered greatly that he was left waiting below after riding so hard to arrive quickly.
Also, the tower seemed festooned with small fluttering rags of some kind, way at the top. Were they a signal of some kind?

Saruman growled at his lackeys when they told him Gandalf had arrived. "I'm not ready! Thanks to your inept laundering..."

"But yer great n' mighty wizardness, we didn't know...."

"Even the dullest laundress knows you don't wash brights with whites! It was bad enough when you washed the red cloak with the robes and I was the Pink Wizard. And now, now you've gone and washed them with all of the colored pennants!"

"We bleached 'em, sir... hung 'em to dry.... put 'em in the sun....," they bowed and scraped.

"Yes you did! And they better be white by now! I have company coming."

"We seen 'em sir, he's down below and sir... "

"Yes, and there he stays until I am the White Wizard again."

"If you don' mind us sayin' so, sir, he won't mind yer bein' a bit colorful.
All grey himself, probably never washed 'r nothin'! Maybe you could be the Wizard of Many Colours....or som'thin...."


"I have come for your aid, Saruman" Gandalf faltered upon getting his first good look at his host in the dim chamber.

"The what?" asked Saruman, daring him with a steely glare.

"No, not white...something a bit more, um..."

"I said what, not white!"

"No, no. Of course not. I concur, definitely not white. More of a..." Gandalf considered him, seeing that his robes which had once been white were not so but were all colours so that his eye was bewildered.

"I am Saruman of Many Colours!"

"I liked white better. You didn't do this on purpose, did you?"

"Aaaargh!" Saruman, humiliated and furious, came at him but found to his great dismay that when he lifted his arms his sleeves stayed just as they had been before, hanging in neat folds... He waved them up and down to no avail, they stuck out like great pointy wedges.

In frustration, he flailed at his fellow wizard with the stiff fibers, attempting to stab him with the pointy flaps.

"Too much starch," Gandalf observed, neatly ducking. "I've had issues with it myself." He whipped off his pointy hat which remained stiff and pointy and came at Saruman hat-tip first. "En garde!"


"You ever were one to fight only when it was to your advantage," snarled Saruman. "You know I haven't a pointy hat!" He experimentally whirled around, his stiffened sleeves whipping like a food-processor on 'chop.'

Gandalf ducked again and hopped forward as his fellow wizard lost momentum, poinking him in the derriere with the tip of the hat in question.

"Yoi!" Saruman complained, a shower of starch-flakes poufing off his robes as he attempted to whack his sleeves backwards.

"Gluph!" Gandalf replied, getting a starchy slab in his face. He staggered back as a random clothespin belatedly spun off of Saruman's recently laundered attire adding insult to injury by bouncing off his nose.

Inspired, Saruman grabbed a basket of wooden clothespins and began flinging them at his adversary. Gandalf stumbled over them, trying to get close enough to utilize his hat again, failing miserably as Saruman added a length of clothesline to the mix and whipped it around Gandalf's feet.

Gandalf's hat spun away and impaled itself in the wooden door as Saruman began spinning him around like a yo-yo.

"Er...." a lackey mumbled from the doorway, eying the still-quivering hat near the knob. "Is this not a good time?"


"Wauggha wauggha wauggha!" Gandalf politely replied as he repeatedly whipped past the lackey, his beard trailing like a comet.

"I' (puff puff) who....rules....the.... (puff puff) laundry...." Saruman gasped through the cloud of starch flakes his activity had stirred up. "You.....better....."

That was as far as he got before the much-abused clothesline in his hands suddenly snapped sending his fellow Maia soaring upward with the graceful trajectory of a Pong game being played at high speed by chipmunks.

The lackey's jaw dropped as he watched the Grey wizard richocet upward into one of the ventilation slots.

"Where'd he go?" Saruman mumbled through his tangled hair and beard.

"He's on the r-r-roof!" the lackey stuttered.

"What?!" He struggled to his feet and ran to the nearest hidden stairwell.

Up above, Gandalf looked around in surprise. He was abruptly in daylight. Clothing flapped all about him, hung from lines strung between the tower horns. A large tub of bleach stood to one side. He nudged it to block the doorway.

By the time Saruman managed to break through, the work was done.

"Behold! Now I am the White Wizard!" Gandalf cried, resplendent in his shiny (if somewhat damp) robes.


Dust Bunnies vs. Plot Bunnies

"I say," Bilbo grumbled from where he was sitting on an overturned laundry-basket. "Aren't you done yet? You haven't even begun to write down that last story I was telling you about.."

"I need to get this in the dryer before I go to pick up the kids," Prim grumbled back at him.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you with your head down inside that confounded contraption. Why don't you just leave it, I want you to write something down for me."

Prim lugged the last of the wet clothes into the dryer and slammed the door on them, then opened it again as she remembered she hadn't added a dryer-sheet. She punched the button to set it whirling.

"NOW are you done?" he persisted.

"I wish! I still have dishes...and then there's the sweeping..."

Bilbo shook his head and smiled, then climbing down, took her hand and tugged her not entirely unwilling towards the computer. "Come now, it's only a little bit of a tale, I'm sure it won't be long...and you know, it's always nice to sit down and have a bit of tea after working. I'll get the mugs and you put the kettle on."
- Primula

Barney on Caradhras

"I must have something to work with, I cannot burn snow!" Gandalf peevishly grumbled.

"How about that fellow?" Frodo suggested, pointing back down the mountain.

"That annoying purple creature that keeps following us singing those inane tunes?" Gandalf didn't even have to give it a second thought. "Brilliant! dinonaur an edraith ammen!"

"I love you, you love FWOOOOM!"

The rest of the company burst into spontaneous applause.

"At last he's good for something," Gimli noted dourly. "Now if we only had some proper meat to roast."

"What, isn't he edible?" Pippin asked.

"Don't even try it, laddie," the Dwarf said.

"Aye," Boromir agreed. "Such things of the Darkness should never be eaten without being marinated first."

Gandalf smiled and gave them a grandfatherly wink. "I tenderized him. Here, pass this miruvor around, this is worthy of celebration!"

- Primula

In honor of the 2008 election season

We have just found out that the Lord of the Nazgul (aka Witch King of Angmar) has donned headphones to protect himself from terrible sounds he has been hearing lately. Now you would think that being undead that one would not have to worry about such things.That, plus the fact that his own screams are quite horrible. We could not imagine anything more frightening. However, recent information and a short interview has found that WKOA finds recent transmissions from the USA are truly nauseating. In his own words "Politics in that Land of Men must be truly horrible.... I never heard such a butchering of the common tongue in all my many thousands of years of being undead. The only time it was worse was when that Quayle fellow did not know how to spell words in his own tongue - arrrrr eeeeeee!!!!!"
- MithrandirCQ
The Lord of the Nazgul protects his Ears


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